Treading on Thin Ice
by damtoti
Summary: "Spain had never hit him before. Not once. Not when he wet the bed, kicked him, purposely uprooted all his tomato plants, told him he hated him out of spite. Never."


**A.N.**: From the Kink Meme.

Beta work done by Sara Generis

* * *

Romano cringed inwardly. There were only two people who would show such eagerness to sit next to him with so many open seats, and one of them was already occupied with trying to squeeze into the same chair as Germany.

"Sit somewhere else," he grumbled.

Spain plopped down on the chair anyways, oblivious as always, and poked his shoulder playfully. "Huh? But why? Are you still mad about yesterday? I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to forget about you."

"You left. Without a fucking explanation."

"But I apologized this morning!"

"Yeah, through thirty stupid texts. But it never struck you to say something when you decided to ditch me?"

Spain's guilty grin didn't do much to appease him. "Okay, I forgot. You were in the bathroom and I guess I forgot about that, and then I got a call from Prussia, and then… I kind of ran off, ahaha."

Romano snorted.

"At least you didn't have to wait for long, right? Italy came and picked you up."

Sure, so maybe in the end he didn't have to spend a night slumped over on a barstool. So what? That wasn't the point. It was the fact that Spain had walked out on him the instant his friends called. Was he that negligible that Spain could completely forget about him? He had picked them over him. Every time Romano thought the bastard actually…_cared_ about him, he always had to go and screw it up.

Then, as always, there was the excuse of him being clueless and forgetful. It was confusing, choosing whether to interpret Spain's actions as innocent simplemindedness or simply him not giving a shit. But Romano rarely gave people the benefit of the doubt, and in the end his head felt so overwhelmed it was easier to act like he didn't care.

He snatched his briefcase up from the floor and started shoving his papers inside. "You know what? Fine. It doesn't matter."

Spain looked up hopefully. "You forgive me?"

"No," he snorted, "But if you don't think you did anything wrong, then don't waste your fucking time apologizing."

"No, that's not it! I feel bad, and that's why I'm apologizing! I just don't think you have to sulk for so long, especially since nothing bad happened in the end."

_Sulking_, like he was still a child.

A few papers jutted out as Romano slammed the top down, obstructing the lock. Muttering a few curses, he pounded on the lid until it unwillingly fastened. "I'll stop sulking when I stop seeing your face," then he jumped to his feet.

Spain caught his arm before he could move. "Hey, slow down! Are you okay?"

For the strangest reason, that made everything worse. Why couldn't Spain just let stop trying to act like such a nice guy? If he just let him leave Romano would be able to better justify his anger.

"'M fine!"

Spain didn't loosen his grip, but instead looked at him quietly, like he was trying to think. Romano impatiently tugged for release.

"What? You got something to say to me, asshole?"

"You'll forgive me, right, Romano? I mean, I know it takes time with you," _With you_, like he was the one with the problem, "but eventually?" Spain's face lit up again, as if he had completely forgotten what they were talking about, "Because I was thinking later this week, maybe we could**—**"

"Are you crazy?" Romano snapped, snatching his arm back. Was Spain really asking him to hang out, like he didn't care that he was upset? Maybe it wasn't that big of a deal, but a little thoughtfulness wouldn't kill him.

"Romano?"

They were drawing a few curious stares but Romano didn't care. Him yelling at Spain wasn't anything new. As expected, most of their audience looked away with disinterest.

"I'm not doing anything with you! Not again!"

A flash of pain shot through Spain's eyes. "But why? I promise I won't forget you this time."

"Because you ruin everything! You already wrecked my childhood, so you should at least have the decency to stop fucking up the rest of my life."

"Wow, okay," Spain, for once, appeared to be at a loss for words, "Don't you think you're overreacting a little, Roma? I mean, if it makes you feel better you can go ahead and yell at me about yesterday. But that came out of nowhere, and it was a little harsh."

"Out of nowhere? Fine, let's just forget about the time you tried to pick my brother over me, just like you always pick your friends over me."

"What happened at the bar was nothing like that! When Gil called, I really thought he had an emergency, and I forgot you were still in the bathroom. And I'm sorry I compared you to your brother back then, it was really stupid of me. But that was so long ago."

"What? So you're telling me I should just stop caring? Am I supposed to just get over every shit move you make just because you're an idiot? Hate to break it to you, but that's not a fucking disability."

"No, no!" Spain jumped to his feet. "Don't you know how important you are to me now, Romano? I'm sorry I said I liked your brother better without taking the time to get to know you. I've told you that so many times! You can't just use that same incident as justification every time you're mad at me."

"Maybe it's cause you don't learn from your fucking mistakes! You're such a stupid bastard!"

"I might make you angry, but never on purpose! I know that I can be a little irritating sometimes. Don't you remember how many times Austria has yelled at me? France? Prussia? Even – even _Belgium_ has lost her temper with me before. I'm not perfect, you aren't either. I don't stay mad when you hit me and stuff. We're supposed to forgive each other's faults, right?"

Romano took a step backwards. "So**—**So you're saying I have a lot of faults?"

"What? No!" Spain smacked his forehead in frustration. "Why would you think something like**—**? Look, I'm just saying you don't need to get so worked up over these things when no one else takes them so personally. I don't _try _to make you upset!"

"Y-Yeah? Well, maybe it's because you don't _try_ to do anything. There's _nothing_ you take seriously."

Spain choked out a laugh. "_God_, Roma. What do you want?"

"The fuck do you mean?"

"What are you trying to get out of this? What on earth am I supposed to say?" Spain's voice was rising with every word. "I'm clearly not making you feel better like this, so tell me what you want me to do."

"I… I want you to…go away. And stop wasting your time with me, since you clearly don't care. You never did."

"...Alright," Spain conceded. "I can't always hug you and make you happy. I wish I was able to, but I can't change what you think."

Romano had wanted to be left alone, but hearing Spain admit that he was too much trouble hurt far worse. "Because you don't care," he bit out, eyes stinging.

"No, because you insist on playing the victim."

"Playing victim? Hah! You're one to talk, huh? You just giggle and say 'oops' every time you destroy something, right?

Spain frowned. "What are you talking about now?"

"The past, _Antonio_. What you keep insisting we all forget. You must be some kind of secret sadist, huh? All the people you allowed to get raped and murdered**—**" Spain cringed "**—**But let's just forget about that. You were doing it for your empire. Isn't that right?"

"Are you serious? We all did bad things, Romano, and I'm _sorry_. There isn't a day that goes by that I'm not sorry. Things are different now."

"Some remorse coming from a bastard who didn't face shit. You get away with a lot of things, don't you?" Romano snapped.

Spain began to respond, then shook his head. A low sigh escaped, and then he turned on his heels and walked the other way.

Just like that.

As if their argument meant nothing.

It made Romano sick to his stomach. In a few hours, Spain would return to his usual chipper and unaffected self, but Romano was different. There was no way he could get over this until they fucking talked it out.

It wasn't fair.

Before he realized it, he was storming after Spain, grabbing him by the shoulder, shouting:

"Don't think I've forgotten**—**seeing what you were like, I'm surprised you didn't just force yourself on me when I was a kid**—**"

Maybe Romano should have seen it from the way Spain stiffened immediately.

Before he could even think of reacting, Spain whirled around. Romano _heard_ the impact of his fist before the pain hit him.

The world jerked to a halt.

Romano stumbled backwards, clutching his stinging cheek. "You**—**You**—**"

There was a lump in his throat that he continuously had to swallow down. Whispered murmurs of shock surrounded them, but he could only stare ahead, wide-eyed.

Spain had never hit him. Not once. Not when he wet the bed, kicked him, purposely uprooted all his tomato plants, told him he hated him out of spite. Never.

He would have found it easier to see something terrifying, find the lurking shadow of a monster within Spain. But when he met his eyes there was nothing, no evil, no hatred. Spain stared at him levelly. Not angry, not hurt, not triumphant. Just… empty. His ears buzzed with the deafening silence.

Then, Spain's shoulders slumped and he took a long breath. Everything rushed back to life.

"I love you, Romano. I really do. But you're not a kid anymore, and there are times when I just**—**just _can't_ do this."

He shrugged his shoulders helplessly, his eyes never leaving Romano's until he turned on his heels. His footsteps cut through the silence as he swept out of the room, and then the door clicked shut behind him.

Romano wished he had slammed it.


End file.
